The End of the Innocence
by Menolly Mark
Summary: Oneshot, takes place during the timeline of Brevity. Lupin, staying at the Granger residence for a bit of the summer, stumbles across a pensieve, and learns the reason that Hermione's patronus takes the form that it does.


**Author's Note: **This is a companion piece to my fic arc which begins with **Fearless, **and ends (for the moment) with **Brevity.** This story is a snapshot taking place during the timeline of **Brevity.** It can be read as a standalone, but the context will be a bit jarring if you don't read the rest of the series.

Ever wonder what exactly was up with Hermione's patronus? I did…

Enjoy!

Menolly

**The End of the Innocence**

by Menolly Mark

Lupin didn't understand why the Granger house had so many bedrooms in it. Hermione had no siblings, and it didn't appear that family or friends came to stay very often at the place. Yet, every single time Lupin ascended the stairs, he had trouble picking out the room in which he was staying from the other five or six rooms that lined the hall of the upper floor. He assumed that, after a few more days of staying here, he would probably get used to it. At least, he hoped he would. His own house had one bedroom and one guest room in the basement, which wasn't even really sufficient for someone to live in anyway.

Pulling open the door to what he hoped was his own room, Lupin stepped inside, and immediately realized that he'd picked the wrong door yet again. The hangings in this room were all in a rich shade of yellow that was not only repulsive, but totally unlike the simple brown ones in his own.

Not taking any time to wonder why anyone would decorate in that putrid color, Lupin turned on his heel, and was about to attempt to find the correct bedroom, when he noticed something shimmering out of the corner of his eye.

On a little black able in the very far corner of the room was a cracked glass bowl containing a glittering, filmy substance that Lupin recognized very well. What, he wondered to himself, was a pensieve doing here in the middle of a Muggle household? Hermione's work, no doubt, but how had she pulled it off, when the Ministry watched so closely to make sure that underage wizards didn't practice outside of school?

He moved to take a closer look, and couldn't help being impressed by Hermione's discretion. She'd probably decided to start storing her memories when she'd realized that she and Ron were just as much targets of Lord Voldemort as Harry Potter was. She was always being thoughtful, always careful, he thought. What a weapon she would be, if the Dark Lord managed to get a hold of her…

Lupin stifled that thought abruptly, swallowing hard. He didn't want to think about how horrible that situation would be. It can't happen, he told himself. That's why I'm here. I'm supposed to protect her so that no one can decide to use her for their own devices. He had to admit, he didn't think he was doing a very good job of protecting her, if he couldn't even keep her safe from himself.

Possibly because he was so deeply engrossed in those self-deprecating thoughts, Lupin didn't realize exactly how close he was to the shimmering liquid. Only when he started to feel the pull that the pensieve was exerting on his face did he understand that he'd gone a bit too far. He tried to pull away, but it was too late. Before he could stop himself, his feet left the ground, and he was tumbling face first into the glowing morass of Hermione's memories.

* * *

The soles of Lupin's feet hit the ground with a jarring thunk, and, steadying himself, he glanced around. On all sides of him, there were crowds of bustling people. Some adults were holding the hands of squirming, excited looking children, while other groups of kids seemed to have gotten away from their parents and were tearing off in every direction, chased after by irate looking people clutching their sides. A sign just a few feet to Lupin's left read "African Elephants, this way," underneath which words a large arrow was pointing straight ahead.

This must be some sort of exhibit or zoo, thought Lupin, as yet more happily squawking children milled around him. Vaguely, he recalled his parents refusing to take him to the zoo when he was a little boy. They'd been afraid of letting him see the wolves, he'd realized when he got older. For some reason, they seemed to think that seeing real, wild wolves would upset him.

"Daddy, are you tired?" asked a squeaky, but still very familiar voice from behind Lupin. He turned, and saw the unmistakable form of Mr. Robert Granger, wheezing as he hurried to keep up with an alarmingly tiny, bushy-brown-haired girl, who looked no more than seven years old. The seven year old Hermione stopped, and planted her little hands on her hips in a gesture that Lupin knew she would adopt more and more as she got older. Mr. Granger waved her away with an airy hand, and tried to recompose his sweating face.

"No, sweetheart, I'm just fine," he assured her, nodding. "Don't worry about me. Let's hurry up and see him before it gets crowded around here."

Little Hermione tugged at her father's hand, attempted to run, but, due to Mr. Granger's tight hold on her, only managed a half-hearted little jog step. Together, they moved forward through the crowds, in the opposite direction to the one in which the arrow underneath the "African Elephants" sign was pointing. Lupin walked straight through all of the people surrounding him, and followed close enough to listen to Mr. Granger and Hermione's conversation.

"Do you think he'll remember me?" asked Hermione, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in her eagerness. "Do you think he missed me, daddy, since I haven't been here in sooooo long?"

Mr. Granger seemed to think about this for a moment. "I don't know if they can remember people," he said, very seriously. "But I bet if he can, he'll remember you. Why, you must be his most devoted visitor, Hermione. I can't remember one time that we've been to the zoo that you haven't wanted to rush off to see him first."

Hermione beamed at him. "Come on," she insisted, pulling harder. Mr. Granger made a valiant effort to keep up with her, and together, they ran forward.

The father and daughter finally came to a stop outside a large enclosure, inside of which were two little ponds, side by side, and a large pile of stacked, painted rocks. Hermione ran right up to the fence, and held on to edge. She leaned over to get a better look at the enclosure, frowning. "I don't see him, daddy," she said, biting her lip. "Where is he? Do you see him?"

Mr. Granger frowned, and shook his head. "No, I don't. Maybe he's being fed, inside one of the animal houses. I'm sure he'll come out if we wait."

Lupin couldn't see anything inside the enclosure either. He looked down at a small, green sign next to Hermione's feet, and read the words "Orrie the River Otter." Orrie, he decided, must be the "he" that Hermione and her father kept talking about.

"Excuse me," demanded Mr. Granger of a woman passing by to his right. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but do you know where the otter is? He's my daughter's favorite, and we've come a long way to see him."

The woman glanced down at hopeful-eyed Hermione, and then gave Mr. Granger an apologetic shrug. Leaning in, she whispered, a bit too loudly, "I'm sorry, but I think he passed away a couple of weeks ago. They haven't had time to get a replacement yet. He was old, after all."

Mr. Granger's face fell. As the woman with whom he'd been speaking went on about her business, he stared blankly into the empty pen, apparently thinking very hard. Lupin didn't blame him. He felt a nasty pang himself, as he watched Hermione impatiently hopping up and down, still trying to see if Orrie was perhaps hiding behind the unconvincing pile of rocks.

"Hermione," began Mr. Granger, very carefully, "I don't think Orrie's here today."

"Oh," said Hermione, her face suddenly a mask of disappointment and distress, "oh, no….where's he gone?"

"Well, I…I don't know," replied Mr. Granger, somewhat truthfully. After all, thought Lupin, nobody really knew what happened to someone after they died, so it wasn't so much a lie as an evasion of the truth.

Hermione thought about this for a moment, screwing up her face in concentration, and then asked, "Is he dead, daddy?"

Mr. Granger stared at her. "What?"

"My friend Linda told me," clarified Hermione, "that sometimes when your mommy or daddy says that somebody's gone away, it means that they're dead. Her mommy told her that her grandfather went away, but he's dead now, I suppose."

"Yes," agreed Mr. Granger, clearly still at something of a loss. "Yes, I'm afraid that's true, he is dead. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Oh," said Hermione, "don't be sorry. But daddy? What's…what's dead?"

Something caught in Lupin's throat, and he swallowed hard, suddenly not wanting to see any more. He didn't hear what Mr. Granger said in response to this difficult question, barely noticed that Hermione and her father were moving away from him back through the throng of zoo visitors. There had been a time, Lupin thought, when Hermione hadn't been as comfortable with death as she was now. In the past several years, she'd seen more death and been aware more and more of the mortality of the people she loved than any girl of sixteen should ever have had to, he thought, and something about seeing her so young, so innocent, and yet so characteristically intelligent and shrewd made his stomach turn.

If I could take it all back, he thought, I'd give her a couple more years of innocence.

But then, he reasoned, even when she was seven years old, she'd been aware of death. He supposed that it was normal for little children to be curious about death, even for children to lose loved ones who had gotten too old. He himself had seen his grandmother pass away when he was only eight years old. There was nothing abnormal about young people experiencing loss.

For some reason, it didn't make him feel any better. Maybe it was the truly saddened look that he'd seen on Hermione's face when she'd realized that Orrie wasn't going to come out to play today.

Lupin felt his feet beginning to leave the ground, and realized that the memory was over. He was glad.

* * *

"Professor Lupin?" The voice of the modern, sixteen year old Hermione drifted in to Lupin from somewhere outside the bedroom. He stood up hurriedly, and moved quickly away from the pensieve, just as he heard the door of the bedroom click open. Hermione glanced at him, raising her eyebrows. "What are you doing in here?"  
"Nothing," Lupin assured her, rubbing the back of his neck in some nervousness. "I picked the wrong room. Honestly, there are so many doors on this floor…it's very easy to get lost."

Hermione chuckled. "Sorry, Professor," she murmured, taking his hand in hers and leading him out of the bedroom and into the hall. "I imagine that the longer you stay, the easier it will get."

Something in her eyes said that she hoped he'd stay long enough to get very well acquainted with the house. His heart warmed, even as he tried not to imagine the tiny, disappointed face of seven year old Hermione in that of the much older, much more mature young woman standing before him.

Honestly, thought Lupin, annoyed at himself. It was just a memory of an otter dying at a zoo. Pull yourself together, man, you must be getting old.


End file.
